Unmet Expectations

 

Back in 2007ish, I heard the male BYU choirs join to sing an acapella arrangement of “I Love the Lord, a beautiful 4-part, male, hymn arrangement of Be Still My Soul by Jean Sibelius (the theme in Finlandia)…only this arrangement had different lyrics. It was sung in a general conference session, and was very moving: I loved the lyrics…and being the ward music chairman, I ordered copies for a quartet to sing in church.

Well, also being the mother and wife of singers, I ‘voluntold’ my sons, Kevin and David, who both sing and read music well to sing. I also, asked my husband, who sings well, but can’t read music to sing 1^st tenor, since it was the melody. The 4^th person was a newly-activated young man, who went to all-state choir. We practiced once, then again, before church, and they sang perfectly. They all blended together and used crescendos and decrescendos to add meaning to the hymn. 

When I ordered the music, it stated the difficulty level as being ‘medium’. For those who sight read music, that is easy…however this music did have 3 key changes throughout the hymn, to represent the spirit of each verse. That would not be a problem if the chords were standard major chords, but they were not. It wouldn’t have been a problem if there had been accompaniment, but there was none…so, after the performance in Klein Oak Ward, regardless of the stated difficulty of the music, I held on to the copies, waiting for another opportunity to sing it again in a different ward (with the same calling) until I had singers, who could read music.

About 1 ½  months before ward conference, I saw the chance, and asked two great singers, soloist men in our ward, one a tenor; the other, a baritone. I envisioned them singing with their sons, one who I had used before and still had not changed his voice to be anything but a first soprano…but I, who also can sing soprano and bass in most passages, thought he could certainly take the part of first tenor, so I asked him. The other son, the one of the baritone, had sung in stake conference, and I was surprised he could sing, since he had never even shown interest in our ward, so when I went to ask him, too, his father negated the invitation first thing. “He can’t read music and he won’t want to do it. I had to jump through hoops to cajole him into doing it for stake conference.” 

OK. Well that really wrecked my plan. I didn’t know who else could blend with those men. I finally asked Mike. Even though he had sung the melody in the previous quartet, I thought he could sing first bass, since I could sight-read and sing first bass. I sent all the singers an audio of their parts played on the piano and the BYU conference version ( floating around on the internet.) 

I had no worries about the other men, but Mike…however, shortly after receiving the music, came in very confidently stating that his part was very easy. Great!

Shortly after arranging this to be sung, Mike and I decided to go to Utah for about 12 days. We would get back in time for my Thursday shift—leaving only Friday and Saturday before ward conference open for rehearsing. Well, one person had made an appointment at the temple on Friday, so we moved the rehearsal to Saturday. One person was driving to Dallas and said he would be back by 8 p.m., so we arranged the practice at 8:15 p.m. at his home (so his son would be there).

Turned out that his runathon thing in Dallas took longer than he thought and he didn’t even leave Dallas (a 4-hour trip) till 7:30 p.m. But…we practiced without him. I sight-read the 2^nd tenor part at their home and had no problems. We only had one part we needed to practice—a key change, where Mike could not find his note. We tried and tried, and Mike said he would go over it at home. Unfortunately, he didn’t (at least not enough).

Sunday morning came, and the ward before got out late; the man, who had never practiced with us, showed up even later, because he was speaking in another ward. We had time to run through it a few times though, and guess what…he couldn’t get the same key change as Mike. After a few private piano intervals given, he said he was confident he had it. 

All through sacrament, I was praying for them to do well. I, have in the past, prayed for angels to supplement voices when it was the choir, but how do you change keys when there are only 4 people, all on different pitches? As I was praying, I felt like I should ask for someone outside of themselves, to correct their pitches. I knew I couldn’t play the piano, as in previous rehearsals, they were going flat and it would be too much of a key change for me to jump in. And I, wrongly assumed the person changing their pitch would be an angel singing in their mind.

I sat at the piano and gave them their pitches, and after an eternal pause, they finally started. It was a bit slow, but they were blending…until the first tenor couldn’t hit the notes that were too low for his voice, so on the notes that were held long, his pitch warbled up and down as he trying to hold his pitch lower than his range. Mind you, he had the melody, and was front and center with the mic pointed at him to amplify his part.

OK, I thought, just keep on pitch. Just keep on pitch. Next came the pianissimo part where Mike and the other bass were to solo. Yep. They nailed that solo, about how wretched they were, and belted it out fortissimo. (The irony to come later.) Right before the last verse, when they were to change from the 'soft', sadness of the song, they were to change key, volume, and to a faster tempo.

What actually happened, was that they changed notes and volume. Ow. Ow. It was bad. How many were off key, I did not know, but right then, I knew that the person that was to correct their pitches was me. I started playing the piano, but since I had never done that with them before, it was a shock to all of them.  I can only imagine the looks on their faces as they heard the piano. Mike said he couldn’t find his note for the life of him, until he realized why I was playing the piano and he needed to listen to the to match what I was playing. After several, painfully slow, vocal off-key chords, I played louder and louder, until finally, they blended with the piano and I faded away.

Well…they made it to the end, where there were several intentional minor chords in the music—but since they had been off key before, I’m sure the congregation thought them off key again…sounding like some slow-motion funeral dirge; solidifying their performance, with nails scraping as the lid of the coffin finally closed. 

As I write this, I am laughing hysterically with tears running down my face…but I sure wasn’t yesterday. No. After the performance, I watched every participant. Red in the face. Staring straight ahead. No one in their family dared to look or speak to them. The horror of performing that way in front of the entire stake presidency and stake visitors.

The bishop kindly got up to say the music inspired him. Had I heard him say that, I would have questioned what it inspired him to do. Never join the choir? Never volunteer to sing in sacrament meeting again?

Had I not had several assignments after the meeting, I would have wallowed in humiliation. As it was, I was wondering how long the men would be embarrassed. What in the world I could ever say in a ‘thank you’ note to them that was positive about the piece? Would they ever accept to sing in church again…especially since I wanted them to sing at Christmas?

We haven’t spoken since the performance…except the 2^nd base, who thanked me for rescuing them—as I played the postlude music, and Mike for apologizing much later for wrecking the piece and not practicing enough. I don’t think we could face each other…but I woke up in the middle of the night laughing uncontrollably about the  grim performance. I doubt the performers are to that point of laughing about it, yet. Mike keeps saying 80% of it was good. Oh, my. Think about the 20%! It was that bad. It was painful. Still don’t know what to say to them. I mean. What would you say? 

What it was supposed to sound like: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FASG0h6-5XQ

 

 

You've Got A Friend

 

YOU’VE GOT A FRIEND

After all the suffering I had incurred to finally gain a job, my family informed me that we were going to Philmont Scout Camp in two weeks—all expenses paid. I would have to quit my job. I only worked 6 weeks. How could I quit now? I knew the Strands wouldn’t let me off for eight days; they were hard-pressed to let me have Sundays off.

Worse than the trepidation I felt in applying for the job, was the fear of betrayal I felt in quitting! I cried. I ranted. I don’t know how I wore them down, but somehow, my parents agreed to let me stay home as long as I had someone they trusted to stay with me.

Wow! Every teenager’s dream! No parents for over a week and two of my best friends getting to stay with me. I was thrilled! I could hardly wait to tell Andrea and Jeannie.

 As my family left, all packed to the gills with camping gear, I felt no remorse, but excitement. Neither Andrea or Jeannie had jobs, so I left for work with them sleeping, peddling my bike in my white uniform, smiling inside at the fun times I could imagine we’d have when I returned from work.

 When I returned, there were Andrea and Jeannie…with their boyfriends. Boyfriends? I hadn’t counted on them being a part of the threesome. Within the hour, it became apparent that the (now, fivesome) had expanded rapidly. Cars playing loud music appeared everywhere. There seemed to be a kind of assembly line occurring among the boys. In horror, I discovered multiple cases of beer being loaded into our house. I grabbed Jeannie. “We can’t have beer here!” I hissed.

 “It won’t hurt anything,” she replied.

 Just then a loudspeaker sounded from outside. “Don’t do anything your parents wouldn’t want you to do.”

 What? What? Was happening?  I walked outside to see a police car in front of our house. The lights were flashing, and they tapped their horn with a clipped “Whoop. Whoop” of their siren…and then continued down the road.

 I somehow convinced Jeannie and Andrea that if those police came back, and found beer in my home, we’d be in trouble. We concocted a plan—a wonderfully exciting plan. We got the keys to one of the boy’s cars and while they were in the back yard, we three girls secretly moved all the beer to the trunk of the car by carrying all the cases out, wrapped in coats from my front closet. We had just closed the trunk and hung the last coat back in the closet when we heard the police car again.

 The three of us hid in in the closet, hearts pounding…and then the doorbell rang. I have long forgotten the conversation we had in the closet, but there were teens scrambling all over my house, looking to hide the beer that Jeannie, Andrea, and I had already removed.

One at a time, cars took off while the police watched. Once the police left, we three girls secretly concealed our laughing at the frustrated guys, who were looking for their stolen contraband. In fact, I was laughing so hard, that when I put my head down behind a car to conceal my laugh, my front tooth chipped on the hood. The last of the guys finally left, never knowing the missing beer was in his car. That was the end of Day One with my friends.

Day Two. I went to work, leaving Jeannie and Andrea—asleep again. I came home to a trashed house. No boyfriends today. Late at night…no TV…no boys. What to do??? (About a half mile away, near city hall…and, you guessed it, the police station, there were Grey Hound dog races in a gigantic stadium that lit up the night in noise and spotlights. We called it the dog track. We decided to walk by the dog track. So…around midnight, here I was, walking in the middle of a dark street…by the dog track. Laughing, joking, we girls could see there is a bright light behind us coming closer. We didn’t turn to see who it was, we just kept going.

“Keep walking.” Jeannie said, not turning around. “It’s probably just our boyfriends. Pretend you don’t see them.”

We did. But the light kept getting brighter and brighter, till finally I turned in horror to see another police car, their spot lights pointed straight on us. The police pulled up beside us, took out a pad, and asked our names.

I was terrified. Jeannie and Andrea both rattled off fake names. My mind was spinning. Its wasn’t in me to lie and I was so shocked by the circumstances that I couldn’t even think of a fake name. “Karen Felsch, “ I managed to squeak out in a shaky voice.

The policeman whistled. “Well what do you know. Two days in a row. Boy will I have something to report to your dad.”

I got this sick feeling as I listened to him telling me to go home. A sick feeling also grew in me when I realized my friends could rattle off lies so easily.

 

As the week wore on, my house grew more and more trashed. I would leave my sleeping friends in a semi-clean home as I pedaled to work and would come home to a trashed home. Empty cans in the yard. I had no idea what they did while I was at work, but they were always up for fun when I came home. We didn’t own a TV. What we would do, ended up reconnoitering with Jeannie and Andrea’s  boyfriends—both, of who were not members of our church, consequently not keeping the standards of the church that Jeannie, Andrea, or I professed. The next few nights we were taken to homes of people I did not know. For me it was boring, because I didn’t have a boyfriend…and those boyfriends seemed to think they couldn’t have any fun without drinking.

Saturday night came—the  night before Sunday. Jeannie’s boyfriend had invited us to another beer party. The girls wanted to go. I had done everything they wanted for the entire week, but Sunday was the next day and I didn’t want to be out in the wee hours. I finally stood up for myself. I mean, this was my house; I had let them make all the decisions the whole week! I asked them to stay home so we would be ready for the Sabbath. Result? I stayed home. They went with their boyfriends anyway. 

Alone, I turned on the radio, and reflected on the week, my friends, etc. Lots of time to think. Perhaps it was my fault, because I didn’t ever say ‘no’…I didn’t ever put my foot down. What use were friends if they didn’t respect me or my property? Perhaps they weren’t really my friends. Perhaps they were just using me…and I let them. 

I stared out the window into the darkness as tears rolled down my face. I had no friends. It was midnight and still the girls were out. I waited up for them, like a mother waiting for their children to come home from a date. With each passing moment, my realization that my so-called friends were not who they said they were. They were not my friends. 

Then, as my soul sorrowed, and my loneliness increased, music from the radio seeped to my mind. Carole King’s “You’ve Got a Friend” seemed ironic, but as I sang, listened, and cried, I had an epiphanic moment.

 

            You've Got a Friend by Carole King

You just call out my name
And you know wherever I am
I'll come running, running, yeah, yeah, to see you again
Winter, spring, summer or fall
All you have to do is call
And I'll be there, yes, I will

Now, ain't it good to know that you've got a friend
When people can be so cold?
They'll hurt you, yes, and desert you
And take your soul if you let them, oh, but don't you let them

 

You just call out my name
And you know wherever I am
I'll come running, running, yeah, yeah, to see you again
Winter, spring, summer or fall
All you have to do is call
And I'll be there, yes, I will
You've got a friend
You've got a friend

Ain't it good to know you've got a friend?
Ain't it good to know, ain't it good to know, ain't it good to know
You've got a friend?
Oh yeah now, you've got a friend
Yeah baby, you've got a friend
Oh yeah, you've got a friend

 

At first, I was hearing the lyrics and feeling, “Oh, wo is me,” but as the music went on, I realized that I did have a friend, who will never leave or desert me. One who will always be there. I thought of Jesus and Heavenly Father. The Holy Ghost. I always have them. They lift me up. They make me better. I can always talk to them. They redeem me. They save me. They turn my darkest night to light. I poured my heart out to the Lord. 

My loneliness dissipated and my heart was filled with joy. Then thud. My ‘friends’ came home. Drunk. No longer did I feel betrayal, but shock…then realization.

 

Yes, I did get in trouble. My parents came home to the beer cans in the driveway, and a trashed house. Jeannie and Andrea weren’t there. But when I got home, my dad—the city manager—already had the police report in hand. Turns out, unbeknownst to me, he had asked them to particularly watch my home. No wonder they were there so frequently!

Punishment? Yes. I was told I would not be able to be in any more plays. You see, I had been promised by the Drama Coach that I would have the part of the wicked queen in Once Upon A Mattress, and Mother Superior in The Sound of Music. Those productions had been planned with me in mind. Although I had had the starring role in Arsenic and Old Lace, the previous year, those parts were ones I wanted. I didn’t think it was fair. To me, the only thing I did wrong was to ‘let’ Andrea and Jeannie determine what happened, instead of leading out as to what should happen.

My father told me that when they first left me, he would pray for the house and me to be safe, but as the week wore on, he felt to pray that I might resist temptation and evil influences.

 

Did My Savior Suffer for Me in Vain?

Perhaps it was because I have been reading in the scriptures about the 2nd coming of Christ, I don't know...but as I rattled off my litany of people who needed help as the voice in our couple's prayer and ended with the prophet, President Nelson, I felt that I should pray for Jesus Christ. Well, I didn't in our couple's prayer, but as the night wore on, I pondered why I would have that thought come to me.

As I prayed privately, I discussed with Heavenly Father, that I didn't even know what help Jesus would need. I mean, He is a God. He already suffered. Why and what help would He need from the Father? As these thoughts and words ran through my brain, I vocally recalled with joy the individuals and circumstances in our family when He had redeemed them through His suffering. What a blessing!

Then I came to me. Me. I had caused Him to suffer. I had caused Him to bleed. The joy I felt for my family members turned to sorrow as I realized, I have so many things I haven't done. So many things I still have need to repent. There was no joy as I realized that heretofore, He had suffered in vain for me. I thought of John Donne's Holy Sonnet 11, how we look piously at those who crucified Jesus, and yet, we crucify Him daily with our unrepentant behavior. We cause His sorrow daily, when we take His atonement for granted. He loved us so much, that He suffered for all, even knowing many would not utilize that atonement. 

I wept as I realized the sorrow He must feel as He looks at the wickedness on the Earth today...not because He suffered for them, too, but because He loves them, too.

Did I even come to a conclusion as to what I needed to pray for in Jesus's behalf? Probably not. But in retrospection, I have found that in praying for Him, I was not focusing on what the Father could offer Him in support, but rather what I could do to support Him. His mission is not over. The atonement is not over. He would receive joy from my applying the gift he gave me. Part if His mission on Earth is for me to utilize that gift. I have a part in His happiness and mission. That changes everything. The very exercise, culminated in a new repentant spirit, a realization of the meaning of the sacrament every Sunday, and a new depth of gratitude and new empathy for my Savior, my brother, and God, the Beloved Son...and a renewed commitment to be better.

Tender Mercy Miracle for Kevin

 Kevin has tied up his money in many investments, and businesses, etc. as well as furnishing his new town home. Yesterday he received a bill for $750 to pay for a gas line he had put in his new home. He had just purchased a new freezer and did not have the money to pay the bill. A mere two hours later, he received an online payment for $750 from a friend. Both the timing and the identical amount was not a coincidence. He had no expectation of this money. Turns out that some time ago, he gave this friend some used appliances being removed from the company he works for. At the time, he said the appliances were a gift, but if the friend sold them, that he could give Kevin half the amount. Well, his friend did sell them for $1,500...thus, the exact amount for $750. Yes...Kevin did pay tithing on that miracle!

I'm writing this because Kevin has things like this happen all the time and never writes them down. 😑

Hand of the Lord in our Life

 Our bishop has asked us to write our special experiences during this year, so that he could include them in the ward history. I have diligently written ALL about 2020, including many spiritual experiences, which I should probably share, but for now, I will give you this excerpt that happened yesterday--Saturday, 12-5-20.

"As days passed, I felt strongly the need to be with my 90-yr. old mother. She had been by herself—basically a shut-in, the entire time because she doesn’t know how to use social media the way we do and no one checks on her from the family the way they do for Mike's mom. Fortunately, she has had the bishop come to give her the sacrament every week since she fainted of heat exhaustion and went by ambulance to the emergency room in July.

When we called up to tell her we wanted to come, she asked, “Do you think I am going to die?” (Yep. That's my mom.) We prayed about when to go, and although I felt prompted to go, I also saw in my mind’s eye, the airport being too crowded for social distancing. In trying to reconcile the two promptings, we chose to go after the Thanksgiving rush, and come back before the Christmas rush. We also chose to go First Class, with alternate empty rows, and to leave the first flight in the morning. Coming back, it will be later, but it was the best we could do.

When I fly, I have to take my portable oxygen concentrator with me…and by law, if I travel with one, I have to have a spare battery to show at check-in. An interesting coincidence happened 2 days before we left. I had been walking around the lake with Mike the day before and my battery started beeping because it needed to be recharged. We came home and plugged the cord in my concentrator to recharge, thinking all was well. Saturday, I grabbed my concentrator to walk around the lake again, and it was still beeping. I looked at the battery and it was on zero. How could that be? Turned out that the cord had been unplugged from the wall, so my battery had not been recharging. No problem, we plugged it in and now could recharge it.

However, Mike said, “Let’s just get the backup battery for now, so we can go for a walk around the lake.” Well, I went to where I always kept the battery and it wasn’t there. Panic ensued—if I couldn’t find the battery, I couldn’t fly. We searched and searched, under any bed or piece of furniture. We emptied bookcases. Went through drawers and suitcases. Went through closets, and book cases. I called my daughter, who’s daughter Olivia goes through everything in my house, hence knows where everything is, since many times she puts it there, however, she did not answer. Mike called his mother to see if we left it in San Antonio at her house. Nothing.

Mike said, "We needed to say a prayer, because the deadline for ordering a new one is looming, since we leave Tuesday at 5 a.m.

I prayed. I poured out my heart, and in the end, I added, “Bless us to find this before we order a new one.” 

I distinctly remember that, because it seemed an odd thing to say. But after many more unsuccessful minutes, Mike said, “I’m going to order another one. They’re $300, but that’s the only way we can fly.” 

He left to go to his office, and started filling in the order online. I answered, “Go ahead.”

But...something about my agreeing to order it kept niggling in the back of my mind. I kept thinking, “What kind of faith do I have if I pray for us to find it before we order another one and I tell Mike it’s OK to order another one?”

I thought about the trip we had taken to San Antonio and how it hadn’t been in a suitcase, then I glanced at a large purse I had taken to San Antonio. I picked it up and saw the battery in it and yelled, “I found it!”…just seconds before Mike would have pressed the ‘Complete Purchase” button.

What a tender mercy! I do not count it a coincidence that Mike had unplugged the recharger cord from the wall to plug in another item, so that we would have the need to find the second battery. I do not count it a coincidence that the words coming from my mouth in a prayer (“Bless us to find it before we order another one.”) I do not count it a coincidence that I was able to find the battery right before Mike would press the ‘Purchase’ button.

Just another example of the hand of the Lord in our life this year.

 

I Believe in Dreams...that Come True

I need to preface last night's dream with a previous occurrence.

About 3 months ago, I went to RS shower for a new baby. I was quite puzzled because I didn't quite know the mother (I thought). When I got there, I found out I DID know her; she was my age! All her daughters were there...except one--the one that had bore the child. I found out this was child #5 out of wedlock for that daughter. The first child had been adopted by a random person, the 2nd child had been adopted by the unwed father, the 3rd child had been adopted by one of her sisters, the 4th child had been adopted by a different one of her sisters, and now, the 5th child was being adopted by her mother, who was in her 60's. Everyone there was in awe of the 60ish grandma, who was adopting her daughter's child.

So last night I had a dream. Mike was not in the dream. I found out I was pregnant (told me by a source) and was so excited, I told everyone. Then I realized I was 65. How could this be? I thought of Abraham's wife, Sarai, how she was 90 and then conceived. I felt concerned that I would bear a child that would be dead or deformed due to my age. I was in a half-sleep state at that point, prolonging the dream to make sense of it...but in the end, I remember my father and grandfather coming in my room and I told them my dilemma. I told them I needed to go to the doctor to see what I could do to have the baby be born healthy, but my father said, "Don't go to the doctor. If the Lord wants you to have a baby, He will give you a baby." That was the end of my dream.

So, in contemplating the dream (with the possible meanings)...especially due to the fact that my father and grandfather were in it, I thought of the ways the Lord would give me a child when I was too old to bear one. I thought of the grandmother adopting her grandbaby. Hmmm.

I read in my Dream dictionary and it said a pregnancy in a female dream meant increased wealth. At age 65, that was just as impossible as the pregnancy at 65! So I prayed...I prayed to know if the dream had some significance in my life's future or was just a dream.

 Alas, it was of no significance.

I must admit it made me a bit sad to know that. A part of me wanted another child to raise.  It would be nice to hold a baby again. It would be nice to have a do-over. You know, when you have nothing significant to do...i.e. have all the time in the world, finally have a decent house and funds, would have only one child and not 6, and would finally know all the things I did wrong and could correct them. "That would be the perfect chance to raise a child," I thought.

I once asked my mother if, knowing what she knows now about what she did wrong as a parent, would she want another child to parent. She laughed, and said, "Every child is different. Every child is a unique challenge. If I had another child, it would be a different child, so that I could grow and learn different skills."

I guess that is what motherhood is for all of us. We, who are not perfect, try our best to fumble around that divine responsibility. Given our own trials and physical limitations, it will always be imperfect. The closest we can get to parenting each child correctly must be when we turn to their father...our Heavenly Father, and reach out for His hand to team up in this responsibility.

While I still may yearn for children, after-the-fact, and yearn for the do-overs in my own parenting. I hope and pray that all my daughters, and daughter-in-laws, may make the most of this one-time chance to get it right. I pray that they will partner with their mate and Heavenly Father to bring to pass the Eternal joy of a forever family.

The Politically Incorrect Negative Material I Dare NOT Post on FB

1. TOO MANY SELFIES: I HATE looking at the same selfie poses and same 'made up' or even digitally enhanced faces of the same person multiple times a day on Face Book. Really? You look the same in every pose. I really don't need to see you several times a day in the same 'practiced' pose. Why do you do it? Do you expect all your thousands of FB friends to say, "Oh, you are so beautiful!" over and over every day? Do you really need that, because we HATE it. It makes us want to unfriend you. It makes us think you are bragging. Usually you have prettier figures and faces than I do and are moaning on your posts how you are not attractive. Are you really that insecure that you have to manipulate people to tell you that you are beautiful, or do you really think we like to see you brag? Get over it. I'm tired of that ploy! I propose a selfie tax: for every selfie above and beyond an average of one a day, should have a tax levied against it.

2. TO STIMULUS CHECK COMPLAINERS: I can't believe recipients of the $1,200.00 checks are complaining. "It will only pay my rent...then what will I have?" Really? Pay your rent then. Go get in line for the free food that is distributed daily. If you would rather spend your money on food, your rent is deferred and you won't be evicted...but you WILL eventually have to pay your rent...so PAY YOUR RENT!  OR...You could move to a cheaper place or live with a relative or friend for free and use your. $1,200 checks together. It WILL help a lot. Be grateful and take advantage of all the other offers people are giving you for free. There are jobs you can get immediately. You can apply for them or file for unemployment. People are bending over backwards to give you a break. Be grateful. Quit complaining. Be smart, and don't waste what you are given.